Trial of Fire
by Tesekian
Summary: Post LotR. Lady Reyalla captures the members of the Fellowship and puts them through grusome tests. But who or what is she looking for? And why is her name so familiar to Aragorn? And what has Gandalf to do with all of this? FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: For those of you reading Flight of the Dragon, don't worry, I haven't abandoned it.  
  
***  
  
"If you insist on keeping up this pace it will take months to reach Minas Tirith," Legolas said from where he waited for Gimli to catch up with him.  
  
"I thought you elves were known for your patience," Gimli retorted.  
  
"Well, since we live thousands of years it is a useful skill, I'm just worried that at this speed your brief, mortal life will have ended before we even sight the city." Legolas enjoyed teasing Gimli, since the dwarf got annoyed so easily. Legolas had missed Gimli during the year that had passed since the end of the quest, though nothing would ever make him admit that. It was likely that Gimli had slowed his pace on purpose just to annoy Legolas, but Legolas would pretend not to notice just so he could tease the dwarf for his slowness.  
  
At last the called a halt for the night. Despite Legolas' complaints, they were actually making good time. They were passing through the Druadan forest on the west road on the way to visit Aragorn in Minas Tirith.  
  
"Since you are obviously so exhausted by your exercise," Legolas said, "I had better take first watch."  
  
Gimli glared at him, but agreed. Legolas had expected Gimli to argue that he was fine and stubbornly insist on taking the first watch. Instead the dwarf had called his bluff and now he would have to stay awake half the night.  
  
It was a pleasant night to be awake, with stars and a thin sliver of moon lighting the sky. Legolas sat, listening to the sounds of creatures moving in the trees and the rhythmic snoring of his companion. Suddenly he tensed, hearing something that didn't sound quite right, though it was difficult to tell over the sound of Gimli's snores. He reached out for his pack, which contained his knives. Unfortunately he hadn't thought to keep them closer at hand.  
  
Suddenly figures charged from the trees. A foot stamped heavily down on his outstretched hand.  
  
"Gimli!" Legolas called, as someone grabbed him from behind and pressed a knife to his throat. Gimli didn't get the warning in time to escape another figure disarming him and treating him in much the same manner as Legolas.  
  
Legolas struggled as much as he was able to without cutting his own throat as one of the figures swiftly bound his hands behind his back. He could see that Gimli was being bound as well.  
  
"Are you sure it's them?" a voice asked.  
  
"An elf and a dwarf travelling together. Who else could it be?" In the dim light Legolas saw enough of his companions to know they were human, but couldn't tell much else.  
  
"Send a message to the mistress and let her know we have them," the first voice said. A man, but the other one who had spoken was a woman. Legolas wondered who they were as he struggled. But the hands that held him were strong and the ropes tight.  
  
"I wouldn't struggle if I were you," the man said, "Our orders are to capture you alive, but no one ever said you had to be unharmed." Legolas stopped struggling, not because he was afraid but to conserve his strength so that he would be better able to escape later.  
  
***  
  
Pippin was woken up by the sound of knocking. He got out of bed and hastily pulled a dressing gown over his nightshirt. The knock continued insistently, and he hurried to the door. It stopped just before he got there as he called out he was coming.  
  
He opened the door, and his eyes went wide with surprise at the sight that greeted him. Nothing. Had he just been dreaming the someone was knocking?  
  
"Hello?" he called as he stepped outside into the night air. He was about to go back inside when someone grabbed him from behind. A hand clamped over his mouth so he couldn't cry out and someone else yanked his hands behind him. He struggled wildly as his hands were bound and a thick gag shoved in his mouth. He continued kicking as a sack was pulled over his head, rendering him blind. Strong hands lifted him from the ground and Pippin was carried, though he couldn't guess where.  
  
"Inform the mistress of our success," a woman's voice said, "we have them all."  
  
***  
  
Aragorn slowly became aware of an aching pain in his head. Then he became aware of the uncomfortable position he was lying in. It didn't help that whatever he was lying on appeared to be moving. It was only when he tried to shift into a better position that he became aware of the fact that he was tied up.  
  
He tried to open his eyes, but he was blindfolded. His head throbbed, probably not helped by the fact it was hanging below the rest of his body. From the movement and the sounds of hoof beats he guessed he was tied over a horse, his hands and feat tied together by a rope that past under the horse's stomach. He called feel the awkward shape of the saddle beneath him. Those things were designed for sitting on, not being tied over.  
  
How had he got like this? He tried to think but his recent memories were blurry. He must have been hit over the head. It would certainly explain why it hurt the way it did. Where was he?  
  
"I think he's awake," a man said.  
  
"Good," a woman replied, "I wasn't looking forward to explaining to the mistress if he was permanently damaged."  
  
"Who's your mistress?" Aragorn managed to ask through a dry throat.  
  
"The Lady Reyalla." Rayalla. That name was familiar. Aragorn creased his brow trying to remember why, but his thoughts seemed to be moving slowly. He knew he'd heard it before though.  
  
***  
  
Lady Reyalla sat looking out of a window at her gardens. She sighed, wondering how much longer they would be hers to tend. She was sad, because if she was right it would soon be another's duty to look after them. But it she was wrong, what then?  
  
The door opened, and she knew who was there even before she turned to look. There were only two people who would enter without waiting for permission, and the tread was too heavy to be her daughter.  
  
She turned to see an old man standing there. Those who didn't know him wouldn't be able to read his expression, but Reyalla had known him for a very long time. Long enough to know that he was angry with her.  
  
"The messages have all arrived," he said, "the members of the Fellowship are being brought here."  
  
"Good," she said, "they should be here soon."  
  
"It's not too late to change your mind."  
  
"You gave me your word you would not interfere," Reyalla said with a hint of annoyance.  
  
"If I meant to interfere your servants would never have reached their destination," she heard the anger in that voice and became worried. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Probably.  
  
"This was your suggestion."  
  
"Not your methods."  
  
"I don't have time to waste on your methods," Reyalla sighed again.  
  
"There are better ways."  
  
"What? Keeping them locked up for months, unaware of what's happening or why? Missing their families and friends?"  
  
"I do not approve."  
  
"You never do," Reyalla said.  
  
The old man sat down, again without waiting for permission. "I often approve of things, just not when they're so blatantly wrong."  
  
"Sometimes things have to be sacrificed for the greater good, don't you agree?"  
  
"Only when there is no other choice," the man replied.  
  
"And I have no choice. I don't have hundreds of years to waste like you do. I'm rapidly running out of time." Reyalla sighed again, and looked out of the window. She had to hope that he would be among them. If he wasn't. . . 


	2. Many Questions, Few Answers

Pippin must have fallen asleep, because he was jolted awake suddenly. His hands were still tied behind him, but the bag had come off. The gag was still in his mouth and his throat was painfully dry. He was on a horse, perched in front of the saddle while a woman rode.  
  
Looking around he saw there were many horses, and three others held prisoners as well as riders. Frodo, Merry and Sam, all bound as he was. Frodo was either asleep or unconscious, but the other two were awake. Merry gave him a look that was probably meant to be encouraging, but it was difficult to be sure since Merry was gagged as well.  
  
Pippin looked round at the riders, a group of about a dozen men and women. He strained round to try and get a better look at the woman who rode behind him. She was middle-aged, flecks of grey running through her fair hair and fine lines around her eyes.  
  
"You'll fall off if you keep shifting like that," she said in a surprisingly mild tone. Pippin looked at the other riders again. They were a strange mix. He saw features of Rohan on one young woman, whereas one looked like a man of Gondor. One even had the dark skin of the Southrons. Who were these people?  
  
At least he was unharmed, and it didn't look like his friends had been hurt either. But what did they want with them?  
  
He was still wondering that when Frodo woke. He struggled briefly, but then closed his eyes and an expression of despair lay on his features. Pippin hated seeing his friend like that, but Frodo had gone through worse things than any of them during the war, and he couldn't cope with this as well.  
  
***  
  
"Rasarl," a voice called, and the horse Aragorn was tied over came to a halt. He could hear voices holding a conversation, but he couldn't hear the words, probably not helped by the pounding in his head. He wished he could see so he could find out what was going on. Well, he really wished he wasn't a prisoner at all, but he'd settle for being able to see.  
  
"Did you have any trouble with your charge?" the voice asked, closer now so Aragorn could make out the words.  
  
"No." Aragorn thought it was the woman who had spoken to him before. "Did you?"  
  
"No, we captured them quite easily." Them? These people had more prisoners?  
  
"Get them on horses," the woman ordered, "The mistress wants them as quickly as possible."  
  
"Get your hands off me!" Aragorn recognised that voice instantly, and something filtered through his blurred memory and foggy thoughts. Legolas and Gimli were supposed to be coming to Minas Tirith. Were they prisoners as well?  
  
In a few minutes they were moving again. Aragorn's hands and feet were numb from the ropes and the pounding in his head seemed to increase with every step. He lifted his head up a little in the hope that it would ease his headache, when the horse took a bad step. Unprepared, Aragorn's head slammed down against the tough leather of the saddle, sending his senses reeling.  
  
***  
  
They stopped shortly after nightfall, the riders lowering their hobbit prisoners to the ground and making camp. They had cut across country and now met up with a road. From the direction he guessed it was the Greenway. That meant either he had been asleep for a long time or the horses were moving a lot faster than they appeared, and that must be great indeed.  
  
One of the riders, a woman, came up to them and tied their feet quickly but securely. Pippin had long since lost sensation in his fingers from the tight ropes. They were left, bound and gagged, leaning against the truck of a mighty oak.  
  
When the camp was finished, one of the men came up to the prisoners with a water bottle. One at a time he loosed the gags and lifted the bottle so they could drink. Pippin gulped down water gladly, the water soothing his dry throat. When the man turned away, he didn't bother replacing the gags.  
  
"Are you alright, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo nodded, though the expression on his face belied this action.  
  
"What do they want with us?" Pippin asked.  
  
"I don't know," Merry replied, "but I doubt it's a coincidence the four of us were chosen." They sat in silence for a while. When it became apparent that food wasn't going to be forthcoming, they each tried to sleep. A difficult task when one's hands were tied behind one's back.  
  
Pippin lay awake uncomfortably for a long time, wondering what was going on, why they had been taken, and most often of all where they were being taken to.  
  
***  
  
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."  
  
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."  
  
"Aragorn?" The boy looked round in surprise, searching for the speaker, but the stable yard faded around him.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn's eyes snapped open. For a moment he wondered where he was, then the pinching ropes and throbbing head reminded him.  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"Ah, you're awake. I was worried they'd done some damage to that head of yours." That was another familiar voice.  
  
"Gimli?" Aragorn groaned, "What's happening?"  
  
"We don't know," Legolas said. Aragorn managed to lift his head slightly. The three of them were tied up and lying on the ground. Moving around them were people, probably human but it was dark so it was difficult to tell. One person was starting a fire.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Somewhere north west of Minas Tirith we think," Legolas said.  
  
"And where are we being taken?"  
  
"I'll let you know as soon as we get there."  
  
Aragorn closed his eyes hoping that it would help clear the throbbing pain in his temples and went over what they knew. Which was nothing.  
  
"Apparently they work for someone called Lady Reyalla," he said, "have you ever heard of her?" Both Legolas and Gimli replied that they hadn't, which just annoyed Aragorn further since he knew he had. Until he figured out when he probably wasn't going to get any more answers. He couldn't even remember how he had been captured.  
  
***  
  
Three days they'd been travelling, riding hard down the north-south road. The rode at a gallop, yet only stopped at midday to eat and rest the horses. Even Pippin knew that horses normally required more rest than that.  
  
The food the hobbits had been given was meagre by their standards and very plain, but it didn't look like the riders were being given any better. By keeping their ears open, the hobbits had learned that the woman in charge of this group was called Mariel, and that their capture had been ordered by another woman, Lady Reyalla. Unfortunately, that still gave them little idea of what was going on.  
  
Near the eve of the third day, the group left the road and turned west. Pippin had a horrible suspicion they were nearing their destination. The feeling increased when the riders continued after nightfall, obviously hurrying to reach wherever it was they were going.  
  
It was very dark when they did reach it, since the moon had now disappeared completely. A building of some sorts loomed up, a blacker shadow in the darkness. The riders passed through a gate, and Pippin had only a moment to glimpse a large courtyard before a bag was shoved over his head again.  
  
He didn't know what was happening to the others or where he was being taken. Fear filled him, as hands steered him along. He tried to remember the route, the lefts and rights he had taken, but quickly got confused. After a while he was led down some stairs and then turned to his right. He struggled all the way, but couldn't get away from the tight grip on his shoulders.  
  
At last they stopped. Pippin tried to calm his trembling. Whoever it was that had been guiding him cut the ropes around his wrists. For a moment he enjoy the blissful release, but his arms were yanked over his head and he was spun round at the same moment. He back pressed against a wall, as the hands fitted his own into cold, metal manacles.  
  
Then the bag was removed, and Pippin got a look at the woman as she left him alone in a small cell. A heavy door slammed shut and Pippin could hear bolts being driven home. The cell was tiny, but that didn't matter since he wouldn't have been able to move around it even if it had been huge. The manacles around his wrists were fixed to a short chain that ran through a metal ring set into the wall above him, meaning that Pippin was forced to stand, his arms stretched over his head. At least the manacles weren't as tight as the ropes had been, but the position meant the blood supply would be slow to return to his fingers.  
  
***  
  
They hadn't bound him over the horse for the rest of the journey as they had the first day, which Aragorn was very glad about. The uncomfortable position made it difficult to breathe, and having his head hanging down increased the headaches plaguing him.  
  
Thankfully, the throbbing in his head had passed, but he was still unable to remember how he had been captured. He had hoped the memory would return once his head cleared, but there was only a frightening blank.  
  
Legolas was blaming himself for his and Gimli's capture, saying he should have heard these people. Aragorn told his friend it wasn't his fault, but secretly wondered how it was possible the elf hadn't heard. He knew from experience than even when a human was at his most silent, Legolas could hear. How he had failed to hear a whole band seemed impossible.  
  
For two days hard ride, the three were placed sitting on horses, their hands bound to a loop of leather on the back of the saddle. A length of rope tied to each foot ran beneath the stomach of the horse.  
  
Legolas had caused trouble with this arrangement from the first moment he could. A few whispered words and gentle kicks had sent his horse charging at their captors. To the amazement of the three prisoners, one of the women had given a sharp word of command, and the horse had stopped instantly. From then, neither his horse nor the ones ridden by Aragorn and Gimli had obeyed the commands of their riders, just following the others when they rode.  
  
Aragorn watched as Legolas tried to get his horse to obey him so that they could break free, but that only achieved some punches in the stomach for Legolas. There was such a lot about this group that didn't make sense to Aragorn. How could they sneak up on an elf? How could humans have more influence over animals than an elf? And how did he know the name Reyalla?  
  
When the group stopped for the night, the three prisoners were placed together again, bound hand and foot. When one of the men came over to them with food and water, they were forced to eat from his hands. Aragorn briefly considered refusing, but such stubbornness would be foolish. As long as they were being fed they would be strong enough to escape.  
  
"Are you alright?" Aragorn asked Legolas quietly, as soon as the man had moved away a little.  
  
"Of course," Legolas replied, "they didn't hit me very hard."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it." They talked for a little, whispering quietly about plans to escape, each more impossible than the previous one. At last they slipped into slumber.  
  
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."  
  
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."  
  
"More important than me?"  
  
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.  
  
Aragorn was yanked out of sleep by strong hands lifting him and dragging him to a ready horse. When the ropes around his ankles were cut so he could be placed in the saddle, he managed to get in a few good kicks.  
  
Suddenly the world went dark. He couldn't see, and half a moment later he realised he couldn't hear. The pain from the ropes at his wrists was gone. Unfortunately, so was every other sensation of touch. In that moment of blind panic, he was aware only of his consciousness in a void.  
  
When the world reappeared as suddenly as it had gone, the shock of his senses returning was more than a little disorientating. Once he'd calmed himself, he took stock of his situation. He was on the horse again, bound as before. Both Legolas and Gimli were looking at him worriedly. Aragorn himself felt more terrified than worried.  
  
Each of his sense had been snatched away from him. Only for a brief moment, but if they could do this they would probably be able to do it for longer. As they began their journey, Aragorn wondered what sort of people they were, if they could control another's sense like that.  
  
It was as he was thinking along those lines that another thought struck him. If they could block his senses, could they influence an elf's? Enough so that he didn't hear an enemy approaching?  
  
***  
  
Author's note: A couple of people commented that Legolas wouldn't have been caught unawares. I hope this clears up that little problem.  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, please keep it up. 


	3. Beatings

"What happened this morning?" Legolas asked Aragorn at the first opportunity when they stopped for the night.  
  
"I don't know," Aragorn replied, "all my senses just went. . . blank."  
  
"We just saw you go limp," Legolas said, "and we didn't know what had happened."  
  
"It was her," Gimli said, he nodded towards a young woman. Hung at her neck was a green jewel. "She said something and the jewel glowed just as you went limp."  
  
"They must possess great magic," Aragorn said unnecessarily. One of their captors came up to them with food and they ceased talking. They had all noticed that these people were deliberately trying not to hurt them. Both Aragorn and Legolas had attempted to escape, yet neither had been punished. This just made Aragorn more curious about what was going on, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers.  
  
The next day the group approached a large house in the middle of nowhere. As they passed through the gate in a high stone wall, Aragorn looked round at woods and flowers surrounding the house. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it.  
  
They passed through another gate into a large courtyard. As the riders were dismounting, Aragorn looked around at the house. On all sides windows looked down onto the paved area. Around the walls bushes were trained up between and over the ground floor windows. It seemed a cheerful place to be taken as prisoners.  
  
Soon Aragorn's legs were unbound and he dismounted. He looked across at Legolas and Gimli, knowing that this could well be their last chance at escape. A dark-skinned man came out of a door and went to the woman who wore the jewel.  
  
"Lady Reyalla wants you to bring Aragorn to her," he said. Well, Aragorn wasn't going to brought easily. He moved sideways, knocking into the unsuspecting man next to him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Another made to grab him, but Aragorn kicked out, keeping his balance well considering his hands were tied.  
  
As he glanced round to take stock of everyone else's position, a darkness past over his vision. Unable to see a thing, he heard Legolas shout his name only a moment before he was stuck over the head. He fell forwards to his knees, momentarily dizzy. Thankfully his vision returned.  
  
Hands grabbed his arms on either side and lifted him to his feet. Head still reeling, he was forced along. There was a man on either side of him, holding him firmly, following the woman who wore the jewel. Aragorn could hear more footsteps and knew that others must be coming behind them. It would have been difficult to escape even if the corridor hadn't been spinning about him.  
  
Aragorn was taken a hall of some sorts. Two thick wooden posts were driven to the floor in the centre of the room. Each had a manacle hanging down from a chain that ran up to a hole in the top of the post and down the other side. The chains were fixed to wheels so they could be shortened or lengthened.  
  
Aragorn struggled violently as they moved him to stand between the two posts and cut the ropes around his wrists. It took four of them to fit his wrists into the manacles, then they moved to the wheels. He found his arms yanked upwards and outwards as the chains shortened until they were stretched as much as they could be. Then his feet were locked to a ring on the floor by a chain only a link long.  
  
Throughout the process, a woman was watching. She now moved to stand in front of Aragorn so he could get a good look at her. Silver hair hung down around a face that would once have been fair but now was lined with age. She was dressed in a gown of gentle green. Lady Reyalla.  
  
The woman with the jewel walked over to her, bowed her head and then removed the jewel. Aragorn watched as Lady Reyalla took the jewel from her.  
  
"You did well, Rasarl," she said, "if you wish you can stay and."  
  
"No!" Rasarl said quickly, "No, my lady," she said with a more respectful tone.  
  
"Very well," Lady Reyalla said, "go and see that they others are placed in the cells." With a short bow, Rasarl left. Lady Reyalla stood in front of Aragorn, and Aragorn's gaze drifted to the green jewel she held in her hand.  
  
"A useful trinket, don't you agree?" she said, following his gaze, "It's just a pity Rasarl is the only one of my servants who is able to use it. Most of the others don't have the control."  
  
She went to a chest that stood in the corner of the room and placed the jewel in it. Aragorn felt relieved that she wasn't going to use it on him, since the thought of being robbed of his senses was truly terrifying for him. Still, whatever was coming wouldn't be pleasant, or Rasarl wouldn't have been so eager to leave.  
  
Lady Reyalla turned to him once more, "Do you yield to me?" she asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you have ordered the kidnapping of myself and my friends. I will not yield to any who act in such a way."  
  
"Then I shall have to change your mind," she said, looking rather pleased that Aragorn had refused.  
  
He wondered what was going to happen to him, but didn't have to wait too long to find out. A whip cracked and a line of pain ran down his back. His bit his lip to stop himself screaming, and braced himself for another blow. He counted ten strokes before the whip stopped, his back blazing in pain.  
  
"Do you yield?"  
  
"No!" The whip cracked again, laying pain across his already painful back. As the whip fell and fell again Aragorn bit right through his lip and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. His back was agony, and pair seared through his nerves, but still the whip kept falling. Spots became to swim in front of his vision and he was aware of nothing but the agony in his back.  
  
"Do you yield?"  
  
Aragorn shook his head, lacking the strength to speak. Darkness rose up around him and he fell unconscious. The last thing he was aware of was the cracking of the whip.  
  
***  
  
Frodo stood, trembling, in his cell, arms held above him by chains. His mind was filled with terrible images of all that these people might be planning on doing to him. His thoughts strayed to Cirith Ungol and all he had been through there. He couldn't go through that again.  
  
His thoughts then went to his friends, and he was afraid of what might be happening to them, and a little guilty that he had been worrying about himself first.  
  
Time past uncomfortably, and at last the door opened. Two women entered, releasing Frodo's hands from the chains. He was too frightened to try and pull away as he was led along corridors and up some stairs. When he was led into a hall he saw fresh blood on the ground between two posts, and hoped desperately it wasn't from one of his friends.  
  
His worries returned to himself again as he was chained between the two posts, arms stretched above him as far as they'd reach. A woman, Frodo guessed she was Lady Reyalla, came and stood in front of him.  
  
"Do you yield to me?" she asked. Frodo shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. "You may wish to change your mind."  
  
He heard a crack and an instant later pain seared across his back. Frodo screamed as the whip struck again, touching fire to the cut from the first strike. As the whip struck again and again, Frodo's thoughts were filled with the terrors they might have in store for him.  
  
Finally the whip stopped, and he sobbed slightly, his throat hoarse from screaming. He couldn't cope with this, he wasn't strong like the others.  
  
"Do you yield?" the woman asked again. Frodo thought of what they might do to him if he said no again, and nodded. Even as he did so he wept, thinking of the others. They would think he had failed them. They would hate him for being weak, but he couldn't go through all that suffering again, he just couldn't.  
  
He followed along meekly as he was unchained and led back to the cell. He expected them to chain him to the wall, but instead they left him. Instead he lay down on his side, crying, his back screaming in pain with every sob.  
  
He didn't notice the door had opened until a hand rested itself on his side and a familiar voice murmured, "Oh, Frodo."  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
***  
  
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."  
  
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."  
  
"More important than me?"  
  
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.  
  
"Elladan," the boy replied, "He said it to Elrohir when he thought I wasn't listening."  
  
"Your brother called you unimportant?"  
  
"I'm not his brother. He said that too."  
  
Aragorn was woken as someone threw water over him. The multiple cuts on his back stung slightly, but he didn't have a chance to pay attention to that. Hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. His back protested at the movement, but he could do nothing to resist. He was taken along a corridor, unable to struggle without causing waves of agony to pass through his entire body.  
  
It seemed to take hours for the short walk along the corridor. Those who were holding him stopped by a door and fitted key to lock.  
  
"Tend to your friend," one ordered, pushing a leather bag into his hands. Then the door opened and Aragorn was shoved firmly inside. The first thing he saw was a small figure, lying on the ground crying, a torn shirt showing red lines of blood on his back.  
  
"Oh, Frodo," Aragorn said, dropping to his side.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
"Yes, it's me."  
  
"I'm sorry, Aragorn," said Frodo between sobs, "I wasn't strong enough. I had to stop her hurting me."  
  
"Ssh, it's alright." He wondered if it was really. If Frodo was here then it was likely the other hobbits were as well. It had been bad enough when he thought only Legolas and Gimli were here with him. What did Lady Reyalla want with them?  
  
Aragorn looked at the bag he had been given and opened it. Inside was a skin of water, a bowl, a pestle and mortar, and a strange bundle of leather. Curious, he pulled out the bundle and unwrapped it. It was a long, rectangular piece of leather, consisting entirely of pockets filled with all manner of herbs.  
  
Carefully, Aragorn removed Frodo's torn shirt. In some places the fabric had become stuck to the dried blood, and Aragorn had to be extremely gentle so to reopen the wounds. Frodo gave a gasp of pain, and Aragorn apologised.  
  
Taking a selection of herbs, he ground them together, making a paste with a little of the water. Once he had used all he need on that, he used the rest of the water to ensure that Frodo's cuts were clean. It clearly hurt the hobbit when he touched his back, but he submitted to Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn rubbed the paste into the shallow cuts the whip had left in Frodo's back. Once he had finished, Frodo sat up and looked at what paste was left in the bowl. He looked at Aragorn.  
  
"Your turn," he said. Smiling a little, Aragorn turned and let Frodo rub the paste into his own back. Every touch made his back feel as though it was on fire, but he bore it, careful not to move.  
  
Frodo had barely begun when the door opened again. The woman, Rasarl, stood there. She waved two others into the cell, a man and a woman. They seized Aragorn's arms painfully.  
  
"You were told to tend your friend. The mistress doesn't want you healed." With that Aragorn was hauled violently from the room to whatever punishment would await him. 


	4. The Next to Yield

Legolas watched Aragorn try to break free, but was still bound to a horse which refused to obey his commands. Suddenly Aragorn stopped, his eyes staring blindly. He didn't do anything to stop the man in front of him who raised a heavy block of wood.  
  
"Aragorn!" Legolas yelled. Aragorn started round towards him, but then the wood struck him over the head and he dropped to his knees. Legolas could do nothing but watch as an almost senseless Aragorn was hauled off somewhere.  
  
Legolas was then hauled from the horse, held tightly by a strong man on either side. Other's surrounded him, too many to fight. He was pushed forwards into a different door from the one Aragorn was taken through. He could hear Gimli's grunts and complaints behind him, and smiled slightly.  
  
"I think these people are as dismayed that they have to look at your face as you are that they have taken you prisoner," Legolas called over his shoulder. A growl of anger came from the dwarf, and to Legolas' surprise there also came a laugh from one of their captors.  
  
He identified the one who had laughed as a young woman, who felt it her duty as a guard to stay as close to Legolas as possible. So close in fact that her hands kept brushing against parts of his body she wished they wouldn't. He made a point to stumble over a loose stone and tread on her toe.  
  
"Getting clumsy in your old age, elf?" Gimli asked, not missing a thing.  
  
"At least I haven't lost my wits like you," Legolas responded.  
  
Legolas' sharp ears caught a low mutter: "Are you sure they're friends?"  
  
They were taken down some stairs into a dark corridor lined with heavy, wooden doors. Legolas heard those holding Gimli stop at one of the doors they passed, but Legolas himself was taken further on to door, much the same as the rest. Once the door opened Legolas saw what was to come: chains. He struggled violently, but several pairs of hands pressed him against the far wall. His hands were freed only to be clamped in the manacles above him.  
  
Then he was left alone.  
  
He strained against the manacles, but the chains were tight, holding him against the wall. He pulled at them until his wrists were bruised and cut and he was forced to admit that it was futile.  
  
After time he let himself fall into the waking dreams of the elves, conserving his strength for whatever was to come. He was startled awake when the door opened. A group of men entered, all chosen for their strength judging from the muscles showing on bare arms. They grabbed his arms before undoing the manacles. He struggled and writhed in their grips, but they hauled him out, those not holding him falling in around as guards.  
  
He was led to the hall and saw the blood that lay on the ground between the posts. He had little doubt it was Aragorn's, and hoped the man was alright. As Legolas was restrained he searched the room with his gaze for any possible way out. Nothing.  
  
"Do you yield to me?" a woman's voice asked, and Legolas turned his head as far as he could, to see the same figure his friends had already done.  
  
"Never," Legolas said. Then the whip began to fall.  
  
***  
  
Pippin was aware of terrible pain when he woke. His back was agony, and his wrists and shoulders sore from the chains. Even his legs ached, and nothing had been done to them. He stood, taking the weight off his wrists, and waited. He had passed out while they were beating him, since he had refused to yield. How long had he been unconscious? And what was happening to the others?  
  
The questions plagued his mind as he remained in the dark cell. He had no way of knowing how much time was passing, and how much had already passed. All he could do was stand there, and wish that the pain in his back would dim. Unfortunately, he had the suspicion that it would increase instead before too long.  
  
Finally, the door opened, and a young woman came in. Someone outside closed the door behind her, and the woman knelt in front of Pippin so they were at the same level. She took out a flask and held it up to Pippin's lips, but Pippin kept his lips firmly pressed together.  
  
"Drink!" she commanded, but Pippin's mouth remained closed. "It's only water," she said. When Pippin continued to refuse, she lifted the flask to her own mouth and drank a little. Pippin opened his mouth and drank. The cool water soothed his dry mouth, and he took several deep gulps before the woman pulled the flask away.  
  
"Slowly now," the woman said, "or you'll choke yourself."  
  
"You sound almost as though you cared," Pippin retorted. The woman flinched as though she'd been struck, and she didn't meet Pippin's gaze as she lifted the flask to his lips again.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" Pippin asked, once he'd emptied the flask.  
  
"Because the Lady Reyalla doesn't want any of you to die."  
  
"What does she want then?"  
  
"I can't tell you that," the woman said, "but I can promise you that it will get better." Pippin gave a snort of laughter devoid of mirth at that statement. "Believe me," the woman went on, "I've been through this." Pippin's eyes went wide in surprise. She must have yielded, and now be made to do such terrible things to others. The thought hardened Pippin's resolve not to give in.  
  
"My name is Rasarl," the woman said, with an encouraging smile. Then she left, and Pippin remained in the cell, feeling more alone than before now that the momentary companionship was gone.  
  
After some time the door opened again, and two women entered, neither Rasarl. As they released Pippin's arms, he struggled, but the movement caused waves of agony to fill his body. They didn't bother binding him, since there was no way he could break the grips they held on his arms, as they led him out.  
  
He soon found himself back in the hall he had been in when they whipped him. Another figure was chained between the posts, red lines showing through his torn shirt. His back was to the door Pippin was brought through, but Pippin recognised him anyway. Merry.  
  
Lady Reyalla stood in front of Merry, but her gaze was fixed on Pippin. "Since you care nothing for your own skin, we will have to try alternative means of persuasion," she said. Pippin stared at Merry's back, the wounds already left by the whip. They would beat him until Pippin gave in, he had no doubt of that, but he couldn't give in to her. Whatever she was doing must be evil if she would do things like this.  
  
"Do you yield?" she asked Pippin.  
  
Pippin hesitated. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Merry." One of the women holding Pippin let go, and picked up the whip, the other kept her hands gripping Pippin's arms. She obviously wasn't expecting much resistance. When the whip fell and Merry gave a sharp cry of pain, desperation filled Pippin. He somehow tore from the one holding him, and hit the one of the whip, with some feeble hope of stopping her.  
  
She tossed Pippin aside easily, and he fell to the hard ground to land agonisingly on his back. He couldn't keep back the cry of pain.  
  
"Pippin!" Merry shouted, as hands hauled Pippin from the ground, pressing painfully into the whip welts. "Let him go," Merry shouted, "Let him go." A fist struck Pippin in his stomach, and he instinctively doubled over, tearing open the cuts on his back. Another cry escaped his lips.  
  
"Let him go, please," Merry begged. Pippin was held, struggling, off the ground, and could see Lady Reyalla approach Merry.  
  
"Do you yield?" she asked Merry.  
  
"Merry don't!" Pippin yelled, only to receive another punch.  
  
"Yes," Pippin heard Merry whisper, "just don't hurt him."  
  
"No! Merry!" Pippin shouted, but was carried out, unable to see what would happen next.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I didn't think I needed to describe everyone getting beaten or you might get bored. Please review. 


	5. Burning

"So much for your faith in hobbits," said Lady Reyalla, pouring two cups of wine. She handed one to the old man who stood next to her. "The only two who have yielded have been halflings."  
  
"There are still two more," the old man said, sipping gently at the wine, "I feel Sam would do well."  
  
"Better than an elf?" Reyalla asked, "No, it will be Legolas who succeeds."  
  
The old man laughed slightly, "Do not be so sure. Hobbits are stronger than you realise, their spirits greater."  
  
"Your Frodo was the first to break."  
  
"He was broken before you even thought of him, broken by trials worse than any you can produce here. It will be a hobbit who passes through the trial of fire."  
  
"Would you care to place a wager on that?" Reyalla asked with slight amusement. "The hobbits against the elf?"  
  
"Agreed. What shall be the forfeit?"  
  
"If the elf succeeds, you will leave, and let me work in my own way without your criticisms."  
  
"And if a hobbit succeeds, you must accept my interference."  
  
"Agreed." They shook on the deal, and the old man smiled, knowing that he was right, and he would soon be making some changes for the better. Until then, the others would have to be strong.  
  
***  
  
Gimli managed to kick one of the guards firmly on the shin when they released him from the chains the second time, making him curse violently. Gimli chuckled slightly, as the limping guard grabbed him and hauled him out the door, the other guard holding him as tightly the other side. He might have been able to break free under normal circumstances, but hunger and the whip wounds in his back had weakened him.  
  
Instead of being taken right and towards the hall in which he had been beaten before, he was taken left, deeper into the dungeons. They took him to a small room, with a wooden frame built across one wall. Strapped to this was the battered form of an elf. Gimli struggled uselessly as he was lifted from the ground and strapped beside his friend.  
  
"So they couldn't think of any worse torture than making me enjoy your company," Gimli said.  
  
"It's a pity they didn't think to remove your tongue," Legolas retorted, "Now I must listen to your grating voice."  
  
"It matters not if you have the fairest voice if only talk nonsense like you," Gimli responded. They stopped their banter when there was a quickly smothered laugh from behind them.  
  
"Lady Reyalla has ordered you whipped," a woman's voice said, "however should either of you have enough you have only to say so. One word and it will be over." So they would continue until one of them yielded.  
  
Gimli heard the whip crack, then Legolas gave a slight grunt of pain. It was barely audible to the dwarf, and he doubted the others across the room had heard. Then the whip cracked again, and pain seared down his back, cutting open the wounds dealt the day before.  
  
The whip cracked again, and another grunt escaped Legolas' lips. He must be very badly hurt indeed to make even the slightest sound, Gimli realised. The whip cut Gimli's back again, and he wondered how much the elf could take. If he was already badly hurt, then he wouldn't be able to cope with much of this, but the stubborn elf would refuse to give in.  
  
The whip rose and fell several times more, but Gimli felt it more for his friend than for himself, despite the blazing agony in his own back. This was far worse than the previous beating, probably because the wounds were being laid on ones already there. Well, if the elf was too full of pride to admit when he was hurt, Gimli would do it for him.  
  
The whip cut Gimli's back one last time, then he shouted. "Stop!" In the short moment after he spoke, Gimli expected the whip to fall again. Silence. Silence broken by a faint sound beside him.  
  
"No," Legolas gasped in a quiet voice filled with pain. "No," he said louder.  
  
"It is done," the woman who had spoken earlier said. Gimli twisted his head sideways and saw them cut Legolas down and carry him out.  
  
"Leave him alone," Gimli growled, but got no answer. Once Legolas was gone, someone grabbed Gimli's hair and pulled his head back painfully. A flask of some sort was forced into his mouth and a foul liquid tipped in. He had to swallow or choke, since he couldn't get away from the hands that held him.  
  
Once the flask was taken away, Gimli was surprised to note the pain in his back dimming slightly. He quickly forgot that when he was cut down. For some reason his legs didn't seem to want to support him, and he could do little but struggle weakly as he was carried out.  
  
***  
  
Legolas lay on the floor of his cell where he'd been dumped, lacking the strength to move. His back was on fire, and now the flames were spreading through the rest of his body. There must have been something on the whip, some poison. Legolas could think of nothing beyond the pain.  
  
He didn't notice that someone had entered until they lifted his head to tip something down his throat. He tried to spit out the foul liquid, to move his head away, but strong hands tilted his head and forced him to drink.  
  
When the hands released him, he coughed a couple of times. The jerks tore into his back agonisingly, but when he lay still the pain lessened. Slowly the burning that was in his veins faded.  
  
He lifted his head to look at the person who was with him. It was the woman who had commanded their capture, the one who had somehow used magic on Aragorn. Legolas was grateful to see she no longer wore the jewel that Gimli thought had robbed Aragorn of his senses briefly.  
  
"Where's Gimli?" Legolas asked.  
  
"That's no longer your concern," the woman said, "Lady Reyalla will see to him."  
  
"She's no lady," Legolas spat.  
  
"Do not insult her," the woman said, "You do not understand."  
  
"I understand enough to know she's evil." The woman shook her head slightly and stood. As she left she kicked a bowl and spoon towards the stricken elf. Legolas raised himself onto an elbow and looked at the contents of the bowl: a strange pale grey mush that didn't look very appetising.  
  
Still, he was hungry, and he didn't think these people would be trying to poison him. They had better ways of killing him. He swallowed a tentative spoonful, and was pleasantly surprised. Far from poisoning him they were actually giving him food that was palatable. It was vaguely fruity, but he couldn't quite place the exact flavour. Ravenously, he ate the rest, then lay back on the floor to sleep.  
  
***  
  
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."  
  
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."  
  
"More important than me?"  
  
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.  
  
"Elladan," the boy replied, "He said it to Elrohir when he thought I wasn't listening."  
  
"Your brother called you unimportant?"  
  
"I'm not his brother. He said that too."  
  
"Was he upset with you for any reason?"  
  
"I borrowed his bow."  
  
"Borrowing in the sense that you forgot to ask his permission?"  
  
Estel nodded. "He said I couldn't go hunting with him. He said I was still a child but I'm grown up now. I'm seven."  
  
Hands grabbed Aragorn and tore sleep away from him. He didn't have time to wonder why he kept having the same dream as he was hauled to his feet and out of the cell.  
  
He stumbled along with his captors until he was shoved into a small room. A wooden table stood in the middle, and Aragorn was lifted onto this. They lay him on his back, and the pressure of his weight on his wounds was horrific. His hands were pulled above his head and metal restraints clamped about his wrists. His boots were pulled off roughly and tight restraints fixed his ankles to the table.  
  
He attempted to struggle, but agony filled his back, and he could fill slick wetness form between his skin and the table. He'd torn the wounds open again. He turned his head to look around the room. There wasn't really much to see. A fire burned in a grate at the centre of one wall, and a door was directly opposite it. Other than the two men standing guard over him there was nothing else.  
  
Aragorn watched as one of the men went to the fire and pulled out an iron from the hot coals. Aragorn's body instinctively flinched away as the blazing metal was held above his face.  
  
"You could yield," the man suggested.  
  
"No." The man nodded to the other, who stepped up to the table with a knife and cut away Aragorn's clothes. As the tattered remnants of his shirt was pulled away, he felt his flesh tear with it and let out a cry, hastily bitten back.  
  
For a moment nothing happened, then the man pressed the iron against Aragorn's side. Aragorn could smell his burning flesh as the iron pressed agonisingly against his skin. He screamed as the man ran into up his side, leaving a trail of white hot pain in its wake. As the iron was pressed hard into his armpit, he screamed again.  
  
The pain continued as the man moved round the table and began again on that side. Soon Aragorn could think of nothing beyond the searing, burning agony. His whole world contracted until it contained only him and the blazing irons and the stench of his only burning flesh.  
  
At last the man moved away, and Aragorn began to pray that it was over. But he returned, with two irons this time. Aragorn tried to twist away, but he shoved one under his back. He couldn't move because of the restraints, and his own weight pressed the bleeding gashes in his back down onto the iron. Pure agony flowed in his veins and a scream tore from his throat.  
  
Then the same was down on the other side.  
  
For long, tortuous minutes that stretched on for an eternity, Aragorn lay there, unmoving, as the pain filled his senses.  
  
"Do you yield?" a faraway voice asked. He shook his head, unable to speak. The pain seemed to be dimming, sounds coming from farther away. The world was growing dark and Aragorn knew he was slipping into unconsciousness. He was glad of it.  
  
Suddenly a firm, angry voice spoke. "Enough! Stop this nonsense!" Aragorn managed to turn his head towards the now open door. An old man stood there, white haired, and robed in white. There was something familiar about him, but Aragorn was unable to focus his mind on what. The darkness took him.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I hope you're all confused. Please let me know what you think. 


	6. Trial of Fire

Sam didn't think there was a single part of his body that wasn't in agony. He was hauled from his cell and taken back to the hall. He stumbled along between two of his captors, half-dragged.  
  
They didn't chain him between the posts this time. Instead, he was just held in the middle of the room, while Lady Reyalla stood in front of him.  
  
"So you will not yield when you are the one in pain, perhaps there is another you will yield for." She gave a signal, and three more entered the room. Two of them held Frodo between them, the third just held a whip. Sam started at seeing his master, bare to the waist. Frodo fixed him with a steady gaze, and Sam was sure he was trying to tell him something, but a cloth gag prevented him from speaking.  
  
"Let him go!" Sam shouted, struggling against the hands that held him.  
  
"You must yield," Lady Reyalla said. Sam hesitated. Then the whip was raised. Again Frodo stared intently at Sam, and Sam tried to work out what he was trying to say. The whip fell, and Sam could see nothing more than the expression of pain on his dear master's face.  
  
"Let him go!" he shouted, "I yield!" A moment later Frodo was free and by his side. He pulled the gag from his mouth and hugged Sam.  
  
"I'm alright," he said, "I'm alright."  
  
"I couldn't let you get hurt again," Sam said.  
  
"You must come with me," a voice said, surprisingly gentle. The two went with the woman, Frodo with only a single line of red across his back.  
  
***  
  
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.  
  
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."  
  
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."  
  
"More important than me?"  
  
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.  
  
"Elladan," the boy replied, "He said it to Elrohir when he thought I wasn't listening."  
  
"Your brother called you unimportant?"  
  
"I'm not his brother. He said that too."  
  
"Was he upset with you for any reason?"  
  
"I borrowed his bow."  
  
"Borrowing in the sense that you forgot to ask his permission?"  
  
Estel nodded. "He said I couldn't go hunting with him. He said I was still a child but I'm grown up now. I'm seven."  
  
"Estel, people often say things they don't mean when they're angry. Your brother thinks you're important."  
  
"But you don't," Estel said, "or you would have been here on my birthday."  
  
"I meant to be. I just stopped to help a friend on the way, thinking it would take less than a day. If I'd known that Reyalla's business would last so long I would have told her it could wait, because I had to be at the birthday of a very important young man."  
  
"Really?" Estel grinned.  
  
"Really," Gandalf replied.  
  
"Will you show me some magic to make up for being late?"  
  
"Of course," the wizard smiled.  
  
Aragorn was lying on his front when he woke. He wondered why for a moment, then realised his front was the part of him that hurt least. The fact that his front was in agony just showed how bad the rest of his wounds were. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his arms didn't want to support him and the attempt just caused the pain to soar.  
  
He lay for a while, each rasping breath tearing at his dry throat, the rough stone pressing against his skin. Thinking. The answer to the question that had been plaguing him since he hear Reyalla's name just gave him more questions. How could Gandalf call this woman a friend? He remembered the old man he had seen through a haze of pain. It might have been Gandalf, but he couldn't be sure either way.  
  
His thoughts returned to the empty void in his memory where his capture should be. There was no way he could have been taken through any of the city gates, no matter how skilled his captors may be. There was only one other way into the city. A secret passage from the centre of the citadel to a point outside the wall. A tunnel once known to only the royal family, the knowledge of which had faded along with the royal line.  
  
Aragorn himself wouldn't have known, if Gandalf hadn't told him of it.  
  
He banished that thought instantly. The old man he'd seen wasn't Gandalf, and he'd been speaking of a different Reyalla. Besides, he was probably mistaken about the name Gandalf had said, he'd only been seven at the time, and not paying much attention to the person who had delayed his friend's arrival. Gandalf wouldn't betray them.  
  
After a time the door opened and Rasarl entered, holding a bowl and a flask. She knelt down by Aragorn's side and, though he tried to pull away from her, she helped him into a sitting position.  
  
"What do you want?" Aragorn asked, though the words grated on his throat.  
  
"You need to eat something," Rasarl said. She lifted the flask first. Aragorn considered resisting, but he was too thirsty not to give in. The cool water ran down his throat, and he instantly felt better. Better enough to refuse to be spoonfed by this woman. He pulled his head away from her.  
  
"You need to eat," she said, "you will need your strength for. . ."  
  
"For what?" he asked.  
  
"For the Trial of Fire."  
  
"More torture?"  
  
"The Trial of Fire isn't exactly painful. It's. . . overwhelming. There's no easy way to explain it."  
  
"You've been through it?" Aragorn was surprised.  
  
Rasarl nodded. "It'll be over soon. Eat." Aragorn followed that gentle command. It made sense to retain what little strength he had left so he could continue to resist Lady Reyalla. Besides, he couldn't remember ever being this hungry.  
  
He ate the strange mush Rasarl offered him, surprised at its pleasant taste. He hated the fact that he had to eat it off the spoon she held, but when he tried to hold the spoon himself his hand shook too much. Pain filled his very being and the hunger wasn't allowing him to heal.  
  
When he finished Rasarl left, and he lay down. He found he had to lie on his front since his wounds wouldn't allow any other position. He was getting worried that the wounds would become infected. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the pain kept his mind hopelessly alert.  
  
When the door opened it wasn't Rasarl who entered, but two others. They hauled Aragorn to his feet none too gently. The pain from the movement and the hands pressing against his wounds made his vision swim. He was barely aware of anything but the pain until they reached a dark room.  
  
There were no windows, and the walls were shrouded in shadow. A dim lamp hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room and beneath it was a strange symbol, painted in a dark red substance he hoped fervently wasn't blood. It was a circle, with three flames coming from it to form a rough triangle. Above the tip of each flame hung chains. Aragorn noticed that one set of chains was much lower than the others, but he didn't give it much thought as his arms were pulled above his head, tearing open the wounds in his armpits, and fastened in one of the sets of chains.  
  
He waited, but it wasn't long before more people came into the room, hauling Legolas between them and chaining him up. The elf was naked, and Aragorn could see cuts and burns all over his body, just as there must be over him. Legolas looked Aragorn up and down, and Aragorn knew he was making the same assessment. Then Pippin was brought in. He had clearly been through the same torture as the others, but it seemed worse for him. His small stature made him look childlike.  
  
The servants left, and for a moment it seemed that the three were alone. Then Lady Reyalla stepped out of the shadows. She carried a bowl, which she placed in the centre of the circle. For some minutes she moved about, fetching things from odd corners of the room that they couldn't quite make out in the shadows and putting them in the bowl, muttering something under her breath as she worked.  
  
Finally she walked over to Aragorn carrying a small phial. She held it beside one of the newly opened cuts and let it fill with his blood. Then she repeated the process with the others and disappeared into the shadows again with three phials of crimson liquid.  
  
When she stepped back into the light she was holding a small bowl. She dipped her figure in the contents, and then painted a symbol on Aragorn's chest in a sticky, red liquid. Blood. When she moved on to the other two he could see that the symbol was the same one that was on the floor.  
  
She then tipped the remaining blood into the central bowl and backed away. To the amazement of the three prisoners, the contents of the bowl began to glow a brilliant red. It flickered like firelight, and a ball of brightness rose up above the bowl.  
  
As the ball of fire hung in the air it glowed brighter, until the three were nearly blinded, but something prevented them from looking away. The fire burned onto the back of Aragorn's eyes, and he felt as though he would see it even after it was gone.  
  
Then with shocking suddenness it moved. It struck Pippin in the chest, and the hobbit let out a soul-tearing scream. The symbol on his chest was glowing as though it was burning, and it seemed to Aragorn that there were flames in his eyes. Aragorn tried to pull free from the chains, but could do nothing. It seemed like hours that Pippin stood screaming pain.  
  
Then he slumped forwards. Dead or unconscious, Aragorn couldn't tell.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Review, or Pippin gets it. Mwa ha ha ha! 


	7. Feelings

Author's note: Sorry for the slight delay, some evil person invented exams. If I ever find out who, he'd better start praying.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn struggled uselessly against the chains, heedless of his own wounds. Lady Reyalla went up to Pippin, and Aragorn wished he could put his hands round her throat. She looked at Pippin for a moment, and the door opened at the exact moment she turned away and two men entered.  
  
"If you do not try anything foolish," Lady Reyalla told Aragorn, "I will let you tend your friend." Aragorn could see now that Pippin's chest was moving in ragged breaths. He watched for a moment, but the expression of pain on Pippin's face was too much. He nodded.  
  
One of the men stepped up to him and released his wrists. Aragorn hurried to Pippin, forgetting his own pain at the thought of helping his friend's. He held Pippin as the man released the chains, and lifted the frail form. The man made an attempt to take Pippin from him, but Aragorn glared and he subsided.  
  
Without a word, the man turned and left the room. Aragorn followed, after giving Legolas one last glance. He carried Pippin along a corridor and up some stairs. He considered fighting, but he was hurt too much to fight, and if they would let him do something for Pippin it would be enough. Before they had gone halfway along their short journey he regretted not letting the man carry Pippin. His arms were in agony and the rest of his body ached.  
  
He was relieved when the man opened a doorway and gestured for Aragorn to go through. It was a simple enough room, with a single bed and a table beside it. There was a small window, but there were shutters fixed across this. Aragorn lay Pippin down on the bed, resting him on his right side, and that was the least injured part of him.  
  
On the table was a lamp, a jug of water and cup, and the bag he had been given before. There was a stack of clean cloths, but none that could easily be used as bandages. He took one and dipped it in the water, carefully cleaning the cuts that crossed Pippin's back.  
  
Then he mixed the herbs for the wounds he knew he could heal. He would wait and see if he could deal with that symbol afterwards. He made a thick paste and applied liberal amounts to Pippin's back. Then he looked at his front.  
  
The symbol was there, but it was black. He thought at first it was a brand, but it was as though his skin had been dyed. It didn't look like any wound Aragorn had seen before, but he put some athelas on it any way.  
  
His task finished, he looked at the jug. There was still some water in there, so he poured it into a cup. Gently lifting the still unconscious form, he raised the cut to his lips. He poured it into Pippin's mouth slowly, taking care that he wouldn't choke, and let him drink. If they had been treating Pippin the same way they had been treating him, he was probably very dehydrated. At last, he lowered Pippin down again. He pulled the covers over him, careful not to let the cloth touch any of the wounds lest it should stick and tear them open again when removed.  
  
The expression of pain had faded, and lying there Pippin could almost be in an ordinary, healthy sleep. Aragorn smiled slightly, glad that he could do something for his friend even if he had been unable to stop that evil woman.  
  
He looked at the jug again. Most of the water was gone, but there was perhaps half a cup left. He wondered if he should give it to Pippin, but the burning dryness in his throat was too much. He drank it himself, swallowing it in a few mouthfuls.  
  
The man was still waiting by the door. He didn't do anything to stop Aragorn drinking though. Seeing he was finished, he stepped forward, looking Aragorn up and down.  
  
"You need a bath," he said. Aragorn agreed. Lying around a dirty cell for however long he'd been here and all the beatings meant he was covered with dirt and dried blood. He followed behind the man as he led him to a room containing a tub. Some clothes lay on a table, and he was very relieved about that. As soon as the man had left him alone, he went to the tub and stepped in gratefully.  
  
The water was cold, but not to the extent that it was unbearable. Though he'd have preferred it to be warm, it was still soothing. He found the pain lessening as he lay there, and soon he began to gently rub at those wounds he could reach, getting rid of the dried blood.  
  
When he stepped out he realised his wounds weren't at bad as he'd thought. All the dried blood must have just made them look so terrible. He dressed quickly in the clothes that had been laid out, simple shirt and trousers that fitted him well enough. His own boots were on the floor, and Aragorn was glad to pull them on. He didn't know how hobbits managed to go barefooted all the time.  
  
The man entered the instant he was finished dressing, making Aragorn grateful he hadn't spent longer in the bath. He was feeling a little better now, and considered fighting, but the man's bulging muscles convinced him that wasn't a good idea. He pushed Aragorn along corridors and up a set of stairs. There was a door at the top, secured with bolts and a heavy lock, which he opened.  
  
When Aragorn was pushed gently but firmly into the room, he was astounded by what he saw. The room had seven doors leading from it, one he had just come through and two in each of the other walls. But the astonishing thing was the group of people standing or sitting around a large table. Merry, Sam, Frodo, Gimli and Legolas. Legolas' damp hair showed he had been given the same treatment as Aragorn.  
  
"Are you alright?" Aragorn asked, and was answered by various nods. That answer given, he went to the table were a meal was laid out. A collection of empty plates showed that the hobbits had already been at work on it, but there was bread and fruit left over which he began to eat. It took all his restraint not to gobble as fast as he could.  
  
"Where's Pippin?" Merry asked. Aragorn was glad his mouth was full when the question was asked, because it meant he could think about how to reply.  
  
"I've told them what I saw happen," Legolas said, "Is he alright?"  
  
"I did what I could for him," Aragorn said, "but I'm not sure what it was that woman did. Until I know that I can't be sure he's alright." That said, he poured himself a large glass of water and drank.  
  
***  
  
Trees. He could feel the trees. He could feel sap moving, slowly, deliberately. He could feel the flowers, where the sap moved quicker, straining up towards the sunlight. He knew what it was like to feel sunlight on leaves, the surging energy that brought.  
  
He could feel the warm air, filled with life. Thousands of tiny creatures carried on the breeze, aching to grow and have children so that their life would continue. He could feel blood flowing nearby, hear it pulsing.  
  
As his senses focused he became aware of his own body, the other sensations fading into the background. He lay on his back on a soft bed, covers pulled over him. A gentle breeze caressed his exposed face. Wait a moment. . . his back?  
  
Pippin opened his eyes and sat up. For some reason the movement didn't cause the pain it should have done. He ran a hand over his back. The wounds were still there, but they were almost healed. How long had he been unconscious?  
  
The last thing he could remember was that ball of light hitting him. He'd expected it to burn, but it didn't. Instead every nerve in his body seemed to tingle. He'd been able to hear everything. He was aware of his body in a way he'd never been before, the blood, the liquid flowing. He'd been able to hear every breath made by the other people in the room, feel the flowing of their blood. And beyond them plants and animals, he'd felt them all, and found them too much to cope with.  
  
The door opened and a girl walked in. From the resemblance in her face, Pippin guessed she was related to Lady Reyalla.  
  
"So you're Mother's new favourite." She looked at Pippin with distaste.  
  
"Favourite?" Pippin asked bewildered.  
  
"It should have been me," she said angrily.  
  
"If you want to be tortured then I'll gladly let you take my place."  
  
"You ungrateful wretch!" the girl snapped, "Don't you realise what she's giving you?"  
  
"So far she's given me nothing but pain." He shifted slightly, and the covers slipped down, revealing the mark on his chest. The girl glared at this angrily.  
  
"The mark will fade," she said, "just like mine did. Then she'll abandon you." She turned and left, almost bumping into the person who was entering. It was Rasarl, carrying a tray which she set down on the table beside the bed.  
  
Pippin looked at the tray, incredibly pleased to see that most of what it held were edible. Rasarl lifted off a pile of green cloth and then placed the tray on Pippin's lap. She lay the cloth gently on the end of the bed.  
  
"You must be hungry," she said smiling. Pippin ate for several minutes, before deciding that it was time for curiosity to be sated as well.  
  
"How long have I been unconscious?" he asked.  
  
"Since yesterday evening. It is now almost noon."  
  
"But. . . my back?"  
  
"Your wounds will heal quickly now, and leave no trace."  
  
"And my friends? Where are they?"  
  
"They are safe," Rasarl said, "they will not be harmed any more."  
  
"Why should I trust you?"  
  
"Because you have no choice. Finish your meal, then get dressed." She left, and Pippin heard the click of a lock as the door closed. He ate quickly, then looked at the cloth. He saw now that it was in fact a green robe. Very unhobbitlike, but if the only other choice was to remain naked he would wear it.  
  
Since he was left to his own devices, he went to the room's one window. There were shutters across it, but these opened easily enough, revealing a garden. Pippin inhaled deeply the air, filled with living fragrances. Looking out, he realised he could do more than just see. He could feel the plants out there, the birds that perched in their branches, the rabbits that burrowed beneath them. He knew what it was like to be each and every one of them.  
  
"What has she done to me?"  
  
"Nothing. She just showed you a door."  
  
Shocked by the voice, Pippin spun round. "Gandalf?"  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I know some people guessed it was Gandalf, sorry I couldn't surprise you. I think there'll be enough surprises later on to make up for it though. 


	8. Discoveries

Pippin stared in disbelief at the white robed old man standing in the doorway. He took a hurried step towards him, but stopped when Gandalf made no similar move.  
  
"What are you doing here, Gandalf?" Deciding that that could wait until later, he moved on to more important things. "We have to find the others and get out of here. Do you know where they are?"  
  
"Yes," Gandalf said simply.  
  
"Gandalf, what's going on?"  
  
"Reyalla has been testing you all, trying to find one person. You."  
  
"You've been here all this time?" Pippin wasn't sure how, but he knew the answer to that question before he asked it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Pippin. I tried to persuade Reyalla to perform her tests in another way, but she wouldn't listen to me, and I swore not to interfere."  
  
"But you could have stopped it!" Pippin didn't want to listen. The memory of the pain that evil woman had put him and the others through was too clear in his mind. He couldn't accept that Gandalf could just stand by and let all this happen.  
  
"Only by breaking my word, and I cannot do that." Gandalf said, "Besides, I understand Reyalla's reasoning."  
  
"Understand! Understand!" Pippin was almost shouting now, letting out all his anger at the unfairness of the world. "Why is she doing this?"  
  
"She feels it is necessary." Gandalf sat down, and Pippin realised the only way to get the answers he needed would be to wait and let Gandalf tell his tale in his own time.  
  
"Reyalla has been searching for someone for over a hundred years now, asking for my help occasionally. To begin with her tests were different, but they took longer. Time is now running out for her so she has chosen to alter her tests so they don't take as long. Unfortunately, the result is not pleasant for those she tests."  
  
"NOT PLEASANT!" Pippin yelled, "I can think of better ways to describe them! Starting with painful and ending with tortuous!"  
  
"I'm sorry. If I could, I would not have let this happen, but I gave my word not to interfere before I realised Reyalla's intentions."  
  
"Why us?"  
  
"That's my fault," Gandalf said slowly, "I sensed something when I travelled with the Fellowship. I sensed a spirit that might be the one Reyalla has been searching for, but at the time I was more concerned with Sauron and gave it no further thought. When I mentioned this to Reyalla, she asked for my help in bringing you together, so she could learn whether or not I was right."  
  
"So now what?"  
  
"She will let the others return home, but you must remain for at least a year, or until the mark fades."  
  
"What is the mark?"  
  
"The mark is the symbol of what Reyalla stands for. There have been several before who have passed the Trial of Fire, but afterwards the mark has faded. The longest it has remain was three months, with Reyalla's daughter, but always it has disappeared, showing that the person chosen was not truly the one she searches for."  
  
"So if the mark fades, I can go home?"  
  
"Yes," Gandalf said, "though when the time comes you may chose to remain, as many others have before you."  
  
***  
  
Aragorn had woken late from his first sleep on an actual bed in what seemed like years. Elrond had always said that sleep was the body's way of healing, and it seemed to be working for his wounds weren't as agonising as they had been. They were still far more painful than he would like, but it was better.  
  
He stood and went into the main room, where a breakfast that would feed a dozen hobbits was spread out on the table. He ate heartily, and then proceeded to try and find a way out.  
  
Off the main room were six smaller rooms, each containing a bed. These rooms all had a small window, but it didn't open. They could break the glass, but it would be too small for most people to get through, but a hobbit might manage it. Unfortunately, they would be unlikely to manage climbing down the sheer walls outside.  
  
"I've already looked for a way out," a gruff voice came from behind him, "and you're not going to find one."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Aragorn said, turning to Gimli, "if we could make some sort of rope we could lower one of the hobbits from this window."  
  
"And what would you make the rope from?"  
  
Aragorn looked round. "The sheets perhaps."  
  
"You'd need to cut them." It was then Aragorn realised they hadn't been given so much as a butter knife.  
  
"If it was as simple as you think, we'd have escaped before now," Gimli said. Aragorn went into the main room again, and looked at the door. It was solid wood that wouldn't be broken easily, and he knew it was locked and bolted from the other side. He wouldn't give in to despair while Pippin may be in terrible danger on the other side of that door.  
  
Soon the whole group of them were in the main room. The three hobbits were eating ravenously. Aragorn just sat staring at the door, as though he could burn through it with his gaze. He poured himself a glass of water and drank slowly.  
  
"Someone approaches," Legolas said suddenly. A moment later Aragorn could hear the footsteps as well. He was on his feet in an instant, waiting. They all stood tense, as they listened to the click of the lock and the sound of bolts being driven back.  
  
It was Lady Reyalla who entered.  
  
"Where's Pippin?" Merry demanded before she was even fully inside the room.  
  
"Safe," she replied.  
  
"Safe meaning you're torturing him somewhere!" Aragorn snapped. He lost control of his temper and launched himself at her.  
  
He couldn't breathe! He'd barely taken a step when he collapsed to his knees, trying to draw air into his lungs, and failing. Panic threatened to consume him, making breathing even harder. It felt as though his lungs were burning.  
  
Then he could breathe again. He drew air gratefully into his lungs as Legolas reached his side and helped him up. He glared fiercely at Lady Reyalla, but did nothing more.  
  
"Don't try that again," Reyalla ordered simply. "I meant what I said when I told you your friend is safe. He will come to no more harm while he is here. The tests you have all been through were to choose one of you. The Trial of Fire selected Pippin as the one I want."  
  
"And what about the rest of us?" Frodo asked.  
  
"You may leave," Reyalla answered, "I have no more need of you here. You may return to your homes."  
  
"And what about Pippin?" Merry asked.  
  
"If he has not returned to you in one year, he will not return."  
  
"You expect us to leave our friend behind?" Legolas asked. Behind his apparently calm voice, Aragorn could hear the anger.  
  
"He will not be harmed," Reyalla said, "I give you my word."  
  
"Your word means nothing."  
  
***  
  
Gandalf had left a short while ago, and Pippin stood alone in the room, trying to control the anger he felt. After a few minutes he realised he hadn't heard a lock when Gandalf left. Maybe he'd just been distracted, but there was only one way to find out.  
  
The door opened easily when he turned the handle, and he stepped outside into a long corridor. He looked both ways, then went left randomly. He had no idea where he was, where his friends were, or where he should be heading too, so it really didn't matter which way he went.  
  
For some time he wandered, trying doors occasionally only to find dark rooms he didn't feel inclined to explore further. At last he found some stairs. He went down and into a long corridor at ground level. One wall of the corridor was solid, but the other was low, with pillars rising to the ceiling at regular intervals. Beyond the pillars was a garden.  
  
He went to the low wall and looked out over the plants. He could feel their life as clearly as he felt his own. It was overwhelming, almost intoxicating, and for a moment he felt dizzy and had to lean on the wall for support. The dizzy spell past quickly, but he could still feel the plants.  
  
Not seeing a door, he scrambled over the wall, landing on the grass beneath. The robe he wore got tangled round his legs and he almost fell, but it felt wonderful to be outside again. The sun crept from behind a cloud, and Pippin rejoiced in the warmth. All round him, he could feel the plants rejoicing with him, straining upwards towards that life-giving light.  
  
He walked softly across the grass, glad to find softness beneath his bare soles after the hard floors inside the house. Soon he turned round, and looked at the house. It was large and stone, but built in a way that would have been attractive if Pippin wasn't feeling daunted by the size. Houses should be low, one-story places, not huge mansions.  
  
Hundreds of windows looked out across the gardens. Were his friends behind one of them? Or were they festering in a dungeon somewhere? Gandalf had said they were safe, but he'd proved he couldn't be trusted as far as Pippin was concerned.  
  
He sank to the ground, despairing at finding his friends in that giant place. Feeling dejected, he looked around, and his gaze fell on a nearby bush. Its leaves were as thick as holly leaves, but they were smooth rather than prickly. On the bush were a few buds. Pippin stared at it in curiosity, since he'd never seen a bush like it before. He wondered what the flowers looked like, and wished one of the buds would open.  
  
He could feel the sap in the bush, rising slowly through the stem and along the branches. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the feeling. It seemed as though it was getting faster. Why? Puzzled, Pippin opened his eyes.  
  
To a view of the bush in bloom. Hundreds of red flowers, similar to roses, almost hid the leaves. He started to his feet, staring in amazement.  
  
"What's she done to me?"  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Sorry it took so long getting this chapter out, but life's been kinda full of exams and much though I'd prefer writing, work must come first. 


	9. Conversations

Author's note: Sorry for the slight delay. My muse attacked me with inspiration for another story.  
  
***  
  
Six members of the Fellowship sat dejectedly round the table in the main room. No one spoke. Reyalla had left some time ago, saying she would see to horses and ponies for their journeys. She had refused to accept that not one of them would be leaving while Pippin was her prisoner, and they had refused to accept she meant him no harm.  
  
"What are we going to do about Pippin?" Merry asked at last.  
  
"There's nothing we can do," Aragorn said, "Lady Reyalla will make sure we leave."  
  
"But we can't leave him here," Frodo protested.  
  
"I said we would leave," Aragorn responded, "I never said we couldn't come back afterwards." The other five nodded in agreement to his plan. Aragorn decided that this wasn't the time to tell them his plan didn't involve the hobbits coming back. If he told them he would never get them to leave without an argument that would reveal their plan to Lady Reyalla.  
  
Perhaps when they were away from here he would be able to convince them to remain away. It would be easier for him to find Pippin if he came back on his own, or perhaps with Legolas.  
  
As the company sat in silence again, Aragorn's thoughts went to Pippin. He remembered the limp body in his arms and was afraid for him. Whatever that spell had been it was obviously some torture worse than the other pains.  
  
His thoughts also went to the old man he'd seen. He knew it couldn't be Gandalf, since Gandalf would never do anything as terrible as this. But still there was a doubt in his mind. He'd find an answer to that question when he came back on his own.  
  
"Someone's coming," Legolas said, and moments later Aragorn heard it. Two sets of footsteps approaching. He rose to his feet, waiting for whatever would come in. The door opened.  
  
"Pippin!"  
  
The moment Pippin stepped inside, Merry rushed to him and flung his arms round him. The woman who had come with him closed the door behind him.  
  
"Are you alright?" Frodo asked anxiously. Pippin nodded. Once the surprise of seeing his friend was gone, Aragorn noticed that Pippin seemed to be wearing a dress. Maybe it would be better not to ask.  
  
"Why are you wearing a dress?" Merry apparently had other ideas.  
  
"It's the only thing they gave me to wear," Pippin said, looking rather embarrassed about the whole thing.  
  
"Has she hurt you?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"No, not since. . ." Pippin broke off, and rubbed his chest nervously at the point where the symbol had been burned on.  
  
"Do you want me to take a look at that?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"It doesn't hurt," he said sharply. More sharply than he would normally have spoken to a friend.  
  
Pippin let Merry lead him to the table and sit him down. Aragorn noticed he was strangely distracted, but he didn't appear to be in any pain. There was an awkward silence. Aragorn wasn't sure if he should ask Pippin what had happened, and it seemed the others felt the same way. If she had hurt him in ways other than physical pain it would be better that he talk about it in his own time.  
  
At last, Pippin spoke.  
  
"She says she's sending you home tomorrow." There was no need to ask who 'she' was. "And she said that I could come and say goodbye."  
  
"We're not going to leave you, Pippin," Aragorn said.  
  
"You have to. I have to stay."  
  
"Why?" Merry asked.  
  
"Because she's done something to me. I don't know what it is, but it scares me, and the only way to learn what she's done is to stay here."  
  
"She may do worse things."  
  
"She won't hurt me."  
  
"You believe that?" Legolas asked in a tone which suggested he didn't.  
  
"I know it. She won't hurt me."  
  
"We don't know what she's capable of doing."  
  
"She's capable of doing a lot," Pippin said, "but she won't. She won't hurt me." Aragorn heard the absolute certainty in his tone, and for a moment almost believed it himself. Then he remembered what Lady Reyalla had done to him. She was clearly capable of magic, and Pippin was under her spell.  
  
"I just. . . came to say goodbye."  
  
"Please, Pippin, think about this," Merry protested.  
  
"Goodbye, Merry. I hope I'll see you again. I hope I'll see all of you again." Pippin stood, and hugged each of the hobbits, smiled at the others, and then walked slowly to the door. There were tears in Merry's eyes as he watched Pippin leave.  
  
"Why was he acting so strangely?" he asked once the door had closed.  
  
"A spell probably," Aragorn replied. "We will come back for him, he's clearly not safe here."  
  
Aragorn didn't mention that if Pippin was under a spell he might not be willing to come. That meant he couldn't let the hobbits come back. They wouldn't agree to what might be necessary to get him to leave.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Sorry it's a little shorter than I would have liked, but I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can. 


	10. The Power of Pain

Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updating, but the computer broke so I couldn't get online. I think that's a pretty good excuse. I've been working on an old laptop of Dad's which, despite not having an internet connection, is pretty good since it has pinball.  
  
***  
  
Two horses and three ponies stood ready in the courtyard when the six members of the Fellowship were led out. Merry was arguing with those sent to make sure they left about leaving Pippin behind, with Frodo and Sam joining in. Aragorn said nothing, but was certain Reyalla would think this genuine. And if they got Pippin out now it would save him a lot of trouble now.  
  
"You will leave now," Reyalla's voice boomed across the courtyard, "and he will remained." Aragorn couldn't prevent the shudder that ran down his spine, remembering what Reyalla was capable of. The three hobbits fell silent and moved closer together.  
  
Without a word, they mounted, Gimli needing to be helped up by Legolas onto the horse that they would ride together. There were no more complaints or arguments as they rode from the gates and out of sight of the house. Aragorn looked back once, and thought he saw a face at the window that might have belonged to a hobbit.  
  
They rode at a slow walk, since that would mean less distance for them to retrace later. Once night had fallen they stopped. Aragorn was fairly certain that they weren't being followed, and a quick word with Legolas assured him he was right in that assessment.  
  
"Now we go for our friend," Aragorn told the group. "Legolas and I will go back. Gimli, you must stay here and look after the hobbits." Hopefully Gimli's pride wouldn't be hurt by saying this, since the real reason he wasn't coming was because he made as much noise as a pack of orcs.  
  
"You're not leaving us behind!" Merry protested, while Frodo and Sam made similar complaints, but Aragorn had expected this.  
  
"If we're going to get Pippin out of there we need to move quickly. Legolas and I can run much faster than hobbits. You must trust us." There were more grumbles, but they consented. With a nod at Legolas the two turned back and became two swift-moving shadows in the night.  
  
It took only slightly longer to return than it had to leave, and soon they stood within sight of the house. Aragorn identified the window he thought he'd seen Pippin at earlier and told Legolas.  
  
"We'll search that area of the house then," Legolas responded. Searching the house wouldn't be an easy task, given it's size, but they had to try. Staying among the trees, they made their way round the house, looking for a way in. At last they found what appeared to be a corridor, with one wall open to the gardens. They were in full view of a lot of windows as they crossed from the trees to the house, but it was a chance they had to take.  
  
Once they had climbed over the low wall into the house, they headed for the area Aragorn thought he'd seen Pippin. Unfortunately they couldn't be sure that it had really been Pippin, or that if it was he was still there. Still, it was as good a place to start looking as any.  
  
They climbed some stairs and entered a long corridor. They opened doors on either side, revealing dark, dusty rooms. They didn't need to explore them carefully to learn that no one had used them for a while. They turned a corner, and Aragorn looked carefully around him.  
  
"This is the corridor were we brought Pippin after the spell," he said.  
  
"You're certain?" Legolas asked.  
  
"Yes." Aragorn looked at the doors closely, wishing he'd paid more attention to his surroundings. "I think it was this room," he said at last. With Legolas standing closely behind him, Aragorn pushed open the door. The window was open, and a pool of moonlight fell on the bed. A row of plants on the windowsill rustled in the slight breeze, and the figure lying on the bed let out a slight sigh, stirring beneath the sheets.  
  
Pippin!  
  
Aragorn crossed to the bed and shook him gently. Pippin's eyes opened and blinked up at him. For a moment he looked puzzled, then fear covered his face.  
  
"You shouldn't be here!"  
  
"It's alright, Pippin, we've come to take you home." Instead of appearing pleased, Pippin looked panicked.  
  
"No! You've got to leave right now!"  
  
"We're not leaving you behind, Pippin."  
  
"You have to."  
  
"You want me to go back and tell Merry I left you here? I haven't the courage to face him and say that." Pippin didn't even smile at Aragorn's weak joke.  
  
"We can't leave you here," Legolas said, "not with that monster."  
  
"She won't hurt me."  
  
"Pippin, you're not thinking clearly," Aragorn said, "she's put some sort of spell on you."  
  
"You don't know what she did to me!" The leaves of the plants rustled violently, though Aragorn hadn't felt the wind that stirred them.  
  
"I know enough to know you're not safe here."  
  
"I'm not safe anywhere else," Pippin said, "you should go. Go now! I'm staying."  
  
"No you're not, Pippin. I don't care what you say, we're taking you with us."  
  
Pippin opened his mouth. Aragorn thought he was going to make another illogical argument. He realised only just in time that he was in fact preparing to scream. The scream was smothered by Aragorn's hand pressed over his mouth.  
  
"Pippin, we're going, and we're taking you with us," Aragorn said one last time. He couldn't understand what Pippin said in response, since his hand was still in the way, but it was clearly a protest.  
  
"I'm sorry, Pippin," he said, and struck Pippin over the head.  
  
***  
  
Pippin woke to a night rapidly fading to day. His head throbbed, but the throbbing was passing quickly, vanishing as the pain in his back had done. He looked round, seeing he was on a horse and that the members of the Fellowship were around him. Someone was behind him, an arm wrapped round his waist to keep him from falling.  
  
Then he remembered.  
  
"No!" he yelled, "You've got to let me go back!"  
  
"Pippin, you're among friends," Aragorn's voice came from behind him.  
  
"My friend wouldn't hit me!" Pippin said, straining against the arm that held him. He was angry. Angry at Aragorn for not listening to him, for hitting him, angry at Lady Reyalla for meaning he couldn't go home, angry at Gandalf for letting her hurt him and his friends, angry at Middle Earth in general.  
  
Suddenly the animals the group were riding began trying to throw their riders. Even the horse Legolas rode began rearing and bucking and nothing he could do would calm it. Pippin realised what was going on too late. He was flung to the ground, Aragorn landing beside him, in time to see Sam get thrown, his head striking a large rock before he lay motionless.  
  
Pippin stared for a moment, too shocked to register that Sam was still alive, able only to think that he was responsible. His anger had made the animals react as they had. As long as he remained with them his friends were in danger.  
  
Pippin scrambled to his feet and ran.  
  
"Pippin! Pippin!" Pippin slowed and turned to face Merry, who had run after him. He owed his friend a farewell after all.  
  
"Pippin, don't go back to her."  
  
"I have to, Merry. You saw what happened, as long as I stay I'm a danger to you all."  
  
"You didn't do that."  
  
"Yes I did. I didn't mean to, but I did it. I have to go back, so I can learn not to do this again."  
  
"I don't understand, Pippin."  
  
"Lady Reyalla did something to me. Now I can do things. I don't want to do them, but they happen anyway. Reyalla's the only one who can teach me to control this. I want to go home, Merry, but I can't. Not until I've learned."  
  
Pippin turned and began to walk away. Tears filled his eyes, and he hated Reyalla. He hated her for putting him through this, for everything she'd done to him and to the others, including Merry. He walked through the trees, knowing that he couldn't look back. If he looked back he might never regain the courage to walk away.  
  
Suddenly a hand touched his shoulder. All the anger he felt came out of him then. He was especially angry that his friends wouldn't listen to him. He spun round, pushing Merry violently to the ground as he felt something shoot from his body.  
  
For a moment he looked around. He saw Merry staring up at him bewilderedly. Then he walked away, the dead grass rough against his feet. Behind him, Merry stared around in amazement at the circle of dead trees the spread for several metres around the place where Pippin had been standing.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Oops. Silly Pippin shouldn't go around killing trees like that. 


	11. Choices

Author's note: I apologise for the delay in updating I was busy, and before you all start complaining, one of the things I was busy with was learning to use a sword and a pole axe. I've even got my own sword. It's blunt, but I'm sure I could beat you to death with it and if that fails I can use my maths file, that's very heavy.  
  
In case you haven't got the point (which wouldn't be surprising given how blunt the sword is) you'd better review.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn picked himself up off the ground and instantly went to check Sam was all right. He'd struck his head, but he was alive, and even now was stirring. Satisfied that Sam would recover, he decided he had more pressing matters to attend to.  
  
He ran in the direction Pippin had taken, his mind racing over the past few minutes. He couldn't understand why the horses had acted as they had, and the only theory he had was one he really hoped was wrong.  
  
It didn't take him long to find Merry, standing dazed in a circle of dead trees and plants. They'd passed this way only a few minutes earlier, and everything had been fine. Aragorn knew that whatever Reyalla had done was more serious than simply making Pippin think he could trust her.  
  
"Merry," he said quietly, "what happened? What did this?"  
  
"Pippin," Merry replied, confirming Aragorn's fears. "He's gone back to her." Merry didn't turn to face Aragorn. He just stood there, staring after Pippin.  
  
"We have to stop him."  
  
"No," Merry said. For a few moments Aragorn was too shocked to say anything, so Merry continued. "I'm not sure if what he's done is right, but it's his choice. We have to let him go, and just hope he comes back." Merry's voice was choked with emotion, and when he finally turned to face Aragorn, tears were filling his eyes.  
  
Aragorn did the first thing that came to his mind, and pulled Merry into a hug.  
  
***  
  
Pippin had run a long way, and knew he should be tired. Somehow he wasn't, just as the pain in his head had gone so had all need of rest. He was stronger than he'd ever been before, healthier, more aware.  
  
And yet he wished he could go back to what he had been.  
  
He slowed to a walk and passed through the gate of the wall surrounding Reyalla's home. His home, a small part of him tried to say, but the greater part of his mind silenced it. This place would never be his home, only his prison until the day he could cast aside Reyalla's 'gift' and returning to his true home.  
  
"So you've come back," a sneering voice said. He turned to see the girl standing there, Reyalla's daughter.  
  
"You should have stayed gone," she continued, "you're not wanted here."  
  
"I don't want to be here either," Pippin said.  
  
"Then go."  
  
"I can't." As he said it, Pippin knew that his last chance was gone. He wouldn't be able to walk away again for a very long time, maybe not ever. He could still turn back, he told himself, even as his feet carried him to Reyalla's house, he could still leave. But he knew it was a lie.  
  
He strode into Reyalla's hall. The posts with their chains had gone, the blood washed from the floor. But Pippin remembered. He knew what this place represented, what it would always mean.  
  
Reyalla sat there, as though waiting for him, and Gandalf stood beside her.  
  
"I want to know what you've done to me," Pippin said, "and I want to know why."  
  
Gandalf looked at Reyalla, as though for her permission, then began to speak. "When the Valar created Middle Earth, they knew it had to be protected. Five Maia were sent to defend this world, and the people on it. Each had his or her own areas of expertise. It was decreed by the Valar, that those whose task it is to govern living things would be born to mortal bodies."  
  
"They can die?"  
  
"Not exactly. Maia spirits are immortal, but the bodies they dwell in can grow old and pass away. Radagast the Brown, who cares for the birds and creatures, and Reyalla the Green, who cares for the plants are the only two who do grow old. But rather than leave Middle Earth without protection, another Maia spirit will be born into a mortal body."  
  
"You think that I'm a Maia?" Pippin could have laughed at the statement, or might have considered Gandalf mad, if it weren't for the expression on his face.  
  
"None of us knew the race which the Maia would be born to. At first we assumed he would be human."  
  
"I have been searching for almost a hundred years," Reyalla said, "searching for one I could train to replace me when I die. My lifespan is long, longer even than the Dunadain in the height of their power, but I know my autumn is upon me."  
  
"I sensed something when I was with the Fellowship," Gandalf said, "a spirit of great power held in check. You."  
  
"It's not possible," Pippin said. But even as he said it, his mind ran back over the things that had happened. Great powers.  
  
"I never asked for this."  
  
"No one does."  
  
"If it's true," Pippin asked, "how could I not know?"  
  
"Can you imagine a child, growing up with the powers of a Maia?" Gandalf asked, "A child who can't understand much of the world around him, given the ability to manipulate plants, even living creatures?" Pippin could imagine. He'd remembered as a young hobbit, after being punished by his parents for bad behaviour, wishing he could make them disappear. If he'd had any sort of power then, he probably would have done something terrible to them. He nodded.  
  
"I will stay and learn what you can teach me," Pippin said, "but this doesn't change a thing. I hate you, for what you've done to me and my friends."  
  
He turned to walk away, but Gandalf placed a hand on Pippin's shoulder. A hand easily shrugged off. "I hate you too, for letting her do it." With that, Pippin walked out of the room into his new life.  
  
THE END!!!  
  
Author's note: I started writing this when I was wondering about the Maia who aren't mentioned in LotR. Tolkien says there are five but only three feature in the story, and Radagast is barely even mentioned. I figured the reason Saruman went evil was because he was cut off from the world, he was never part of Middle Earth. So I wondered what would happen if a Maia could grow old, what would happen when they died? Obviously, they'd need an apprentice.  
  
I hope you liked my story. There may be a sequel, it all depends on my muse. 


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